


Ignorance Isn't Bliss

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:05:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: root + Shaw prompt- after Shaw comes back, root's been keeping her distance. root knows Shaw has been back to mission duty, but seeing her in action, just the thought of it, scares her. terrifies her. she doesn't know what'd she do if she lost Shaw again. so she avoids Shaw and seeing Shaw in action at all costs which leads to her constantly asking fusco or Reese to be her partner when she needs one. she starts to get pissed and annoyed that root doesn't ever ask her for help anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignorance Isn't Bliss

Shaw shoots her gun.

Root cringes. Not for fear of her safety, the barrel wasn’t pointed at her, and she felt most safe when with Shaw in the first place; not for the man, he was shooting at them recklessly anyway; not for the sound, she’d heard it for years. She cringes at seeing Shaw pull the trigger, knowing that if she’s using a gun, it means she’s in danger, and that’s the last thing Root wants.

She can feel her pulse quicken, stricken with fear for Shaw. It seems like for all the fear Shaw doesn’t feel, Root feels it for her on top of her own. Root tries to tell herself that Shaw knows how to handle herself, a true statement, but it doesn’t ease her worry.

The man continues to shoot, each bullet coming closer and closer to Shaw, bringing her perilously close to danger. Shaw shoots again, and again Root cringes. Each bullet she fires is a signal of her jeopardized safety, each bullet fired at her a reminder that any one of them could take Shaw- something Root can’t afford to lose.

“Hey, Root, you listening?” John’s voice breaks through her icy thoughts, and she gives an involuntary shiver at the cold in her bones. He gives a quick glance over at her from the driver’s seat and takes in her depressed, lost eyes. “You spaced out again.”

* * *

 

She shakes her head lightly to relieve her thoughts, pushing a strained smile onto her face. “Sorry, I was just-”

“Thinking about Shaw.” Root freezes, hand tightening in her lap and breath catching.  _I was just thinking of the mission._ The lie she’d gone with for the last two weeks seemed to crumble at her feet, leaving her exposed to the elements. She wonders how to respond, whether to lie or ignore him, correct him with her original, falsified answer. Root sighs.

“That obvious?” She asks, a defeated chuckle in her voice and a bitter smile forming on her lips. John nods, eyes scanning the road as they turn onto the highway.

“You can’t avoid her forever,” John tells her somberly, the slightest hint at understanding laced within his tone. Then, a small smirk quirks up on his face. “She wouldn’t let you.”

Root smiles mechanically, but it feels like a grimace to her, showing some of the pain within her at bringing up the topic.

Seeing Shaw was wonderful, and it was awful. It was sunlight and it was a tempest; it was a blessing and it was a curse. Root’s mind is conflicted, heart even more so. She’s elated to have Shaw back, every time the thought comes to her she can’t help but grin. But then, like a wrecking ball, the pain-stricken thoughts crash in. The last time they were together, Shaw was shot down and taken away. Endless, sleepless nights followed. Even though she’d always lived on her own, her house somehow felt empty. For so long everything was empty.  _And it was all my fault._ The guilt overcame her, replaying each thing she did wrong to get Shaw captured-  _calling her for help; not trying hard enough to keep her on the elevator_ \- taking up every second of the seldom rest she got.

Having Shaw back, Root wanted nothing more than to protect her.  _And the best way to do that,_ Root tells herself yet again, that same agonizing pang stabbing at her heart,  _I have to stay away. For her sake and for mine._

“Root, you’re doing it again,” John tells her, and she sits up straighter in the chair, forcing her eyes over to him to keep focus. Her eyes scan his chiseled profile, slightest scruff peeking out on his smooth skin. “I said you need to stop ignoring her.”

“Are you even going to ask why I  _am_?” Root counters, voice raising slightly and eyebrows coming together- trying to hold herself together. John, expression not changing, shakes his head calmly.

“None of my business, but things… They need to get back to normal between the two of you. Or at least as normal as they can get.”

“What if this  _is_  the new normal?” Root asks him quietly, a haunting in her voice. Taking her face away from him, she casts her eyes out the passenger window as she feels her face contort in an anguish she can only try to choke down. There is silence, then the car slows to a stop before a red light. A moment later, she feels a large hand encase her knee.

“It’s not,” John tells her, assurance in his voice that she’d so desperately needed. His comforting hand slips away, and they begin down the road once more. In her vision, Root sees blurs of gray buildings, gray sidewalks, and occasionally the silver sky.

Root wants to believe him, but a darker, insidious part of her mind holds her back, keeping her thoughts swirling with shadows.  _Shaw is strong. She’s independent and protective. Fearless and cunning. She’s quick, and she’s self-contained, and she’s realistic. Shaw is kind. She knows right from wrong; a chance from certain death. But, at the end of the day, she is only a woman composed of finite pieces._

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /_______

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you,” Lionel says with a stinging amount of acceptance and seriousness in his voice. Shaw watches him, arms crossed, and her eyes narrow. “Kidding,” he adds, taking in a sneer ready to kill on her face. From just outside the dank, dark warehouse, they hear the sound of tires on gravel, a mumbling engine, then silence.

Root steps out of the car, chilly air lapping at her face, the smell of rain soon to come filling the air. Looking at the location, Root gazes up at a three story building composed of cement blocks and broken windows. She can hear the roaring rush of water, and sees the gray Hudson River just behind the building, a light, white fog drifting over the water. She can feel the dampness of the day seeping frostily into her bones, and she pulls her jacket tighter to her body.

Walking into the large space, Root is surprised to find it filled with containers. A building left for dead on the outside showing eternal life within its walls. Dust carries thick in the air, the only sources of light coming from grimy windows. Root hears the clicking of heels further ahead and halts, hand coming to her gun.

“ _Easy_ , Tiger,” John tells her, continuing forward. “It’s only Shaw.”

 _Shaw?_  The name sticks to her mind, engulfing her thoughts and clouding over her vision. “You didn’t tell me  _she_  was going to be here,” Root hisses, letting go of her gun, but not becoming any less tense. John shoots her a quick smirk over his shoulder.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t come,” he replies simply, casual tone never changing. He slips away past a large, wooden crate. The heels become deafening, their clicking sound echoing off of every surface, drowning Root entirely.

She draws in a silent, shaky breath. She rounds the corner.

The first thing Root sees is Shaw, as if her mind senselessly gravitated to that spot, knowing what would await her. Root stands motionless once more, not coming any closer to the trio conversing two crates away.

Shaw’s hair is pulled into a ponytail, but strands sick out all over, the hair broken from months of maltreatment. Her face is paler than before, its old, lively glow replaced by indifference. Her cheekbones are angular, large and sharp as glass, pulling in much too close, all the way to her over-exaggerated jaw line. Shaw’s eyes are darker than ever, their usual, deep brown replaced by a haunting ebony, and shadows fill them entirely. Below them are purpled bruises ringing in half circles, showing all of the sleepless nights she’s had, how they started before she ever made it home. Her nose seems steeper, narrowed and thin, giving her eyes the impression of being sunk further into her skull. Shaw is all angles and shadows. Her trench coat is buttoned all the way up, collar barely concealing a blue-ish bruise, filled within by small, slowly healing pin-points of deep red. She brings her hand to the spot subconsciously, fingers trailing over every mark, eyes seeing every syringe over again. Always petite, Shaw never seemed so small. Her coat seemed to consume her, the size looking too heavy for her body. She would never admit it, but she hadn’t been recovering well.

Shaw, feeling eyes on her, turns her gaze away from the two men, and they land upon Root. Root feels her heart grow wings, beating profusely against her rib cage. Shaw’s eyes lighten, their chocolate brown coming out of the shadows at seeing Root. The rest of her stays neutral, no smile coming to her face, no shift in her posture, but her eyes speak volumes a smile never could. Root casts her eyes away, overcome with far too many things, all painful, causing her a sickening headache.

“I’m gonna… wait outside,” Root mumbles just loud enough for John and Lionel to hear, and they turn to look at her. She stands like a kicked puppy, eyes down and hands stuffed pathetically into her pockets. “Keep watch in case anyone shows up.” Before anyone can argue, she turns smartly on her heel and heads towards the exit.

Behind her, she can hear Shaw’s voice, but is unable to make out the words. Then John speaks, his words a blur as well.

“Just you  _try_  and  _stop_  me,” Shaw spits out, these words crisp with her natural anger, and Root can’t help but smile. But just the same it falls away, and she walks back into the chilling day. She stands a moment, looking from left to right, unsure what to do with herself.

The water calls her, and she heads that way, feeling the thick gravel become small pebbles under her boots, all the way to a cement divider separating the land from the water’s edge. With a sigh, she sits on the icy surface, eyes cast out into the colorless depths.

______\ We’ll Find You /______

“What are you protecting us from, mutated sewage fish?” Root’s surprised to hear Shaw’s voice directly behind, and snaps her head around quickly to face her. From this angle, Root looks up at Shaw’s face, seeing her eyes twinkling in amusement, lip curled up at the corner in a small smirk. Root’s heart soars, and she forces herself to contain the smile, not wanting to let Shaw in.  _It’ll be safer that way._ Without answering, Root turns her face back towards the river, half of her willing Shaw to leave, the other half begging her to stay there a moment longer.

“Do you  _like_  ignoring me?” Shaw asks, annoyance masking her underlying dejection. Root bites her bottom lip, knowing if she opens her mouth, the only thing she will expel is a scream. She hears Shaw give off a frustrated puff of air from behind her, Shaw’s breath hitting Root’s neck, making her bite her lip harder, knuckles as white as the diving wall as she grips it tight. Before her eyes, all she can see is Shaw being gunned down, Shaw being shot at, Shaw, Shaw,  _Shaw._

There is movement, and the presence behind Root leaves, replaced by a stronger one at her side. She watches through the corner of her eye as Shaw sits beside her on the ledge, feet dangling over towards the water.

Root keeps her face away from Shaw, but her eyes continuously peek back at her, wanting to see her more than anything. Root feels her blood freeze in her veins as Shaw draws her gun, fiddling with it aimlessly in her lap. Root is overcome with nerves, fingers beginning to tremble and breath quickening. She clears her throat, and her words whoosh out in a rush.

“If you have this covered I’ll guard the front then.” Root stands, quickly, hit with a dizzy spell at the motion, but staggers through it.

“Root.”

Root freezes, hearing her name escape Shaw’s lips. Simple, but swirling with so many things. A question, a demand, a plead, and a hurt. There is awkward silence, even the water becoming silent, holding its breath in tense anticipation.

“Can we talk?”

Root’s jaw clenches and un-clenches at the question, and at last she smiles sadly. “We can talk later, Sweetie.”

Root hears the smallest of laughs escape Shaw’s lips, and she turns back, intrigued. Seeing the question in Root’s eyes, Shaw shakes her head lightly with a smile on her face.

“Long time since you called me that one,” she clarifies, and Root nods in understanding, feeling her heart rip further down the middle with each second. “Are you scared of me?”

Root is taken aback by the question.  _Am I afraid of her? Why would she ask that?_  Root shakes her head, not understanding the relevance but knowing the answer with certainty.

“Not  _of_  you,” Root says at last, finding her voice slightly scratchy. “ _For_  you.”

Shaw gives her eyebrows a quick tug upwards. “You don’t need to be  _scared_  for me, Root, I’m fi-”

“Don’t…  _don’t_  say fine,” Root interrupts her, a nauseating anger bubbling up from deep within. “I can see you’re lying.” Shaw turns, crossing her legs on the divider, turning to face Root entirely. There is a cold amusement in her eyes.

“ _Me_?” She fumes with distaste, temper flaring. “ _You_  are the one who’s not fine.  _You_  are the one who’s been acting strange since the day I got back.”

Root feels a snag in her throat, and she falters for words. “You need to be careful.”

“So you’re avoiding me because you don’t feel  _safe_  around me?” Shaw asks with an appalled hint in her words, anger radiating heat and flooding some color back to her cheeks.

“No, I’m avoiding you because I don’t want to see you get hurt!” Root screams, hands coming to her hair, fingers ripping through its waves with frustration. “I don’t want to see you in- in danger.”

“Danger’s a part of the  _job_ ,” Shaw seethes, eyes narrowing to slits. “I was in danger before, and I always will after.”

“It’s different now,” Root replies silently, and Shaw cocks her head to the side in thought.

“Whelp,” Shaw says, patting her hands on her thighs. “You’re gonna have to get used to it, because I’m not letting you ignore me any more. It’s annoying as  _hell_.”

“ _What?_ ” Root asks, pulse racing at the mere idea of having to see Shaw in action again. “Wh- no,  _no_ , I’m not-”

“I’m tired of seeing you ask John and Lionel for help,” Shaw tells her with conviction. “They work together; we work together. That’s how it’s always been.”

“All the more reason to change things up,” Root tells her half-heartedly, and Shaw shakes her head. She closes her eyes a moment, and when she opens them, her eyes are shadowed with black once more.

“Fine,” Shaw says shortly, lip transitioning between neutrality and a sneer. “What do I care anyway.”

“I only want to protect you-”

“I don’t  _need_  protecting!” Shaw belts out, pushing off of the divider to stand before Root angrily. Root can feel her heart melting and freezing all at once.

“Sa-”

“I’m going to see what John and Lionel are up to,” Shaw says, brushing past Root heatedly, an indistinguishable tone in her deadly voice. Root watches her for a moment, and- against the warning sirens going off in her head- follows her back.

_____\ Ignorance Isn’t Bliss /_____

Shots fire off like cannons into the still air, and shattering glass shrieks as it explodes, the pieces free falling from a nearby window. Shaw steps briskly out of its way, nearly knocking into Root, and the glass rains down on the ground. With merely a look at each other, an unspoken conversation takes place, and they both charge around the building, guns drawn.

Out front, two black SUV’s are pulled in behind John and Lionel’s cars, blocking any chance of vehicular escape.  _How did we miss them?_  Root wonders with a flicker of rage. Continuing forward, they come to the large, rusted door at the same time. Root clicks the safeties off her guns.

“Stay here,” she tells Shaw, who snorts indignantly. By the time Root looks back up, it’s pulled open, and the tail end of a black ponytail vanishes within. Root feels a knot tying sickeningly in her stomach, and the air around her drops twenty degrees. She runs in after her, heels echoing on the concrete floors. The first person she sees is a dark woman wearing jeans, an army-green jacket, and a semi-automatic.

Upon seeing Root, a menacing sneer overtakes the woman’s face, and she raises the deadly weapon. Root fires, striking her in the shoulder, and she flails back, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. Root takes aim once more, gun angled lower, and takes out her right kneecap. She shrieks.

“Floyd, what is it?!” A man’s voice shouts out from further within.

“Psycho… Bitch…  _Shot_  me!” She screams back to him, hand pressed to her shoulder as she cradles her legs in. She hears footsteps coming from that direction and presses herself against the nearest crate, letting the shadows consume her. Suddenly, the entire layout feels like a life-sized game of Pacman. So many places to turn, so many ghosts to escape.  _Game on_ , Root thinks, a smile coming to her face.

The two walk by, both in dark jeans and black jackets, large guns in their chocolate hands. She holds her breath as one looks her way, then releases as they walk off in a different direction.

Slipping away, she takes cautious steps in her heels, careful not to make a sound, snaking in between the labyrinth of wooden boxes, stopping only when she hears a voice on the crate adjacent to hers.

“If you stopped doing illegal things, Dominic, we wouldn’t have to keep kicking your ass,” John’s calm voice brings some relief to Root’s mind, knowing at least one of three are safe.

“If you stayed outta my business, I wouldn’t have to keep threatening your life,” someone-  _Dominic_ \- responds, footsteps heavy and slow as they pace around. “Or your little  _mall_  cop,” he adds with cruel humor in his voice.

“You  _watch_  it,” Lionel huffs, voice like a mouse who thinks he’s a lion. “Or your car ride to the station is gonna be a rough one.”

Dominic laughs a hearty rumble that would make the Devil shudder. “You going to lock me up, Detective?” He asks, almost sarcastically, pleasure rolling in his words. “I had a different game in mind.”

“Finally tired of playing Dastardly Drug Dealer?” John asks with wicked sarcasm, and Root can practically feel the angry heat radiating from Dominic.

“As a matter of fact,” Dominic says, stopping his pacing. “I am. I’d rather play Kill the Cops. Only question is, which one first?”

Root steps out from her shelter, guns poised. She sees the back of a tall, muscular man who seems fairly young. She sees the gun in his hand bounce back and forth between John and Fusco, who are zip-tied to their chairs. Just as she brings her finger to the trigger, there is the piercing pop of a gun, and Dominic’s shoulder is jerked backwards. Another pop, and his other shoulder is pushed by an invisible hand. A third hits him, and he drops to the ground, sputtering.

With him down, Root can see John and Lionel in their seats, and twenty feet back, Shaw emerging from a darker corner of the building. Root feels her throat constrict, seeing Shaw with a smoking gun, but swallows her fear down.

“‘Bout time you two showed up,” Lionel says while Root walks briskly to John’s side. As she cuts away the ties, the sound of boots hitting solid ground drown the entire building.

“Who are these people?” Root asks John, moving to Fusco as John rubs his reddened wrists.

“The Brotherhood,” he replies, standing. Four people enter their view, all wielding cold guns and burning eyes. The one farthest to the left has a machine gun, and he lets loose, allowing bullets to hail down on them, and they scatter like ants in the rain. John and Lionel dart to the right using crates as shields, taking turns back and forth to fire at their pursuers.

Root and Shaw run left, backs pressed to the nearest crate. They fall further in as large chunks of wood splinter past them. More and more boards fall away, and Root can see now what has been hidden within.  _Guns._  Crates upon crates of shotguns.  _At least ten foot high and six across- how many does each hold?_

Before she has time to do the calculations, Shaw’s voice interrupts her thoughts.

“You good?” Root looks at her, seeing Shaw’s eyes stern, waiting for an answer. Even with the bullets tearing the building to shreds, enemies quickly advancing forward, Shaw makes it seem as if Root has all the time in the world to answer. Part of Root thinks Shaw asks if she is injured.  _I’m not._  But part of her thinks Shaw asks if she is able to do this with her.  _I am._

Root gives a curt nod; Shaw rolls her back off the crate, allowing her abdomen to press against it with her head peeking out, right arm extended with her gun firing. Root follows right behind, mimicking Shaw’s stance, weapon above Shaw’s and body pressed to hers.

Shaw’s eyes are narrowed in concentration, jaw set and determined as she shoots at the four advancing Brotherhood members. Root’s heart hammers and her fingers quiver in a mixture of adrenaline and worry. Together, and with the help of the Detectives, Shaw and Root pick off the three using handguns. Only the wildest one remains. He’s nearly upon them now, one crate away from being equal to them, bullets spitting 180Â° back and forth. His motions are quick and mechanic, rage his best shield.

Root waits- waits until he’s shooting away from them- then dashes off, a streak of brown hair and black clothes as she runs back towards the exit. She presses herself to another crate, narrowly missing getting filled with lead as the machine gun swivels her way, firing out bullets into the small walkway between the crates. Taking a steadying breath, she brings an inner calmness to her jumping nerves, and steps around and out from behind the crate, now behind the man.

Both guns raised, she lets loose, shooting until he drops like a stone, machine gun ceasing its fire. For a moment there is silence, and no one moves.

Finally, John emerges with no more than pink on his wrists and a smudge of dirt on his suit. Fusco is a little worse for wear, with his curly hair disheveled, grime on his cheeks, and a large tear in his pant leg. The seconds tick by, and Root feels more nauseous with each, feeling an overbearing amount of concern.  _Where’s Sameen?_

“Good shot.”

The voice comes from directly behind, and she whirls around, relief flooding in. Seeing Shaw, she gives an assuaged laugh, cheeks pinkening slightly.

“Shots,” she corrects, lifting her guns upward to show their newfound lightness, then stows them away in her waistband.

“I could go for a few,” Shaw responds, twisting the word into an offer with a microscopic smirk flickering onto her face. “If they’re in.”

“I could use a drink,” John replies, walking forward. Fusco nods in agreement, stepping on Dominic’s hand as he comes past.

“Son of a-” Dominic starts rage-fully, but Fusco twists his foot and he stops.

“I’ll be there-  _right_  after I take him to the station,” Lionel says, bending over to hoist the shot man up. Root smiles at him, then turns her gaze over to Shaw. Seeing her already looking, Root feels her stomach summersault in elation. Shaw looks her over, studies her face, and it sends a fluttering shiver down Root’s spine.

“The celebrations may have to wait,” Harold’s voice reaches them all through their ear wigs, and Shaw looks away at the large crates. Root sucks in a breath, not realizing she hadn’t been able to breathe. “We have just received a new number, the owner of a beauty parlor on Aramingo Ave.”

“What do you say to a drive to Pennsylvania?” Root asks Shaw; she gives a half-smile in return.

“I say, I’m driving.”


End file.
